Without a Trace
by icesk8ter14
Summary: He arrived at her apartment that night expecting a movie night, just as they had been doing for the past month since resigning. That isn't what he gets. Rated T to be safe!
1. Prologue

**AN: this is my first fanfiction ever, so if you review, be nice! I hope that it's good! I started writing before the big announcement (I cannot believe that Cote is leaving!) but the stroyline will still work for that, so I decided to go ahead and publish anyway. I hope to update almost daily, but I might not always! So anyway, thanks for reading!**

****Disclaimer: I own none of the NCIS characters or the show (if I did Cote could have whatever she wanted so she could stay!) or any of the song lyrics used at the beginning of the chapters. Proper credit to proper people that aren't me!**

...

Prologue: The Note

...

_"I didn't get around to kiss you_

_Goodbye on the hand_

_I wish that I could see you again_

_I know that I can't_

_I hope you can hear me_

_I remember it clearly_

_The day you slipped away_

_Is the day I found it won't be the same."_

_~Avril Lavigne "Slipped Away"_

_... _

It is about seven o' clock on a Thursday night, when a man enters a modest apartment building in Washington D.C. He's carrying several takeout boxes and a DVD, and appears quite excited to be there. He raises a hand to knock on the door that he has stopped in front of, only to pause as he sees the note that was left for him. It is hastily scrawled on a sheet of notebook paper and taped to the door. He scans the first few lines quickly, thinking that she may have had to run some errands and will be back shortly. It reads:

_Tony,_

_I invited you over tonight to say goodbye, and to thank you for being there for me for the past eight years. But the more I thought about seeing you tonight, the more I realized that there was nothing for me to say that could possibly convey what your friendship has meant to me, or make this any easier."_

Her words gave him pause. Say goodbye? Was she going on vacation? Somehow, he didn't think so. And what is "this" that she can't make easier? She wasn't making any sense. He froze in shock as he continued reading.

_"I am leaving. NCIS was my home, and nothing can be the same after what has happened this year. Though I know you will probably try anyway, please do not look for me. I do not wish to be found._

_I have always cared a great deal for you, and hope that you can forget about me and move on, settle down, and have the kind of life that you deserve._

_After tonight I am going to disappear. I have connections all over the world as you know, and have already planned where I will go. Everything has been ready for some time now. I ask again that you do not look for me, I have nothing to offer you. _

_Sincerely yours,_

_ Ziva_

When Tony reached the bottom of the note, he just stared blankly for a moment, before tearing it off the door. He pulled out his spare key and burst into the apartment…it was exactly the same. She hadn't done anything with her possessions that might have tipped someone off to her plans. He walked through the familiar space, not touching anything, just looking around. The whole apartment still smelled like her, cinnamon and vanilla, and a hint of something he could never quite place that was distinctly Ziva. He had been here regularly since they resigned, and knew his way around pretty well. The only thing that he could see out of the ordinary in the living room was two missing pictures: the one of her with her siblings, and the one of the two of them that McGee had taken when they went out for drinks after resigning.

The condition of the bedroom was much the same. A few empty picture frames, and some clothes missing from her closet were the only indicator that someone had left. She had left the bed unmade. Staring at it, he remembered that night, just one week ago.

...

They decided to have a movie night, and had stayed up until about 0300, which was when she finally slumped over, asleep on the couch. Tony made to stand up to go, but when the shifting weight jostled her, she looked up at him, face open and innocent with sleep, and said, "_It's late, stay."_

And he did.

And when they woke up the next morning, his arm under her shoulders, her head on his chest, his head buried in her thick curls, he had never been more content with anything in his life. When she stirred as she awakened, and glanced up at him through thick lashes, she smiled gently, and he didn't even think about it when he leaned down and softly pressed his lips to hers. It was soft, sweet and hesitant, and when he pulled away and saw that she was still smiling, he beamed.

_"Good morning."_

She answered,_ "It is."_

...

There he stood, in the room where this shift in their relationship had taken place just one week ago, alone, just thinking, _Gone. She's gone._

...

At the moment, seventy miles out over that Atlantic Ocean, a woman sat, leaned against the window of a plane. Her flight was not full, and she was glad because she could not help but remember who was beside her on her last flight to Europe, and that seat should not be filled by a stranger. As the tears filling her eyes threatened to spill over, she silently admonished herself for doing exactly what she had sworn not to. And so, as the distance between the plane and her former home grew, she greeted an old friend that she had not needed for some time. She had once known the emotionless mask that every Mossad agent is trained to use quite intimately. It had been there for her in trying times in the past, hiding her thoughts, keeping her strong, keeping everything sealed in, where it should be. She had gone everywhere with it, and as it slid back into place, hiding what she felt from prying eyes, she realized that it could be that way again. She would not be happy, of that she was sure, but maybe she could be content. After all, Ziva David had never depended on happy endings.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Job

**_Three Years Later_**

**_... _**

_"Well, I say as I look back at all the thoughts I've had_

_They reflect just what I'm learning_

_Yes, you know that the hardest part_

_I say it is to stay on top_

_Of a world forever churning_

_Well, you say you can laugh, _

_But I can see your eyes are glass_

_Well, do you see, can't you see, what I'm feeling?_

_Yes, I've seen your face before,_

_Why, I've seen it everywhere, _

_Showing up to me without a scent revealing."_

_~RUSH "Here Again"_

_... _

Tony DiNozzo woke with a jolt as his plane touched down. Glancing out the window, he took in the familiar scene of the tarmac at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, France. He'd never imagined he would be here, but after all that had happened, he needed a fresh start. Looking back on it, he tried to figure out the catalyst of all of this. At least one of them had to be The Note.

The Note. He had taken to thinking of it like that. Bolded, capitalized, whatever would denote its importance. Because it was that important, he hadn't a doubt in his mind. After that night, he had read it and reread it, and folded and unfolded it so many times that it looked at least ten years older than it was. He brushed his wallet, where it was still safely tucked away. He had considered burning it, like he had with Jeanne's, but even though Ziva was at least as out of reach as Jeanne, it somehow didn't seem right.

The month after she left felt like an eternity. He had been so furious at here. "_Nothing to offer you_" she said. What if he had something to offer her? Like a heart? Or a life with him? Anything? Didn't he deserve a say? And as for NCIS being her home, didn't she know that they could have gone back? After three years, he could still get worked up over the fact that she had left more questions than answers with that damn Note. He sighed. Returning to NCIS without his partner may have been difficult, but what really put the last nail in the coffin was the news he received just a few weeks later…

...

_Tony awoke to what he at first assumed was the buzzing of his alarm clock, but after spending a good minute or so attempting to turn it off, he remembered that he was unemployed and it hadn't been set over two months. That obnoxious noise was his cell phone._

"H'lo?"

"DiNozzo."

_Sitting up in shock at hearing Director Vance's voice on the line, Tony quickly asked what was wrong; what he heard next was not exactly what he had been expecting._

_Gibbs MIA, job offer, need an answer by next week, talk to you soon, and that was that._

_As Tony hung up the phone, he flopped back down on his bed and began processing. If he went back to NCIS to head his own team, there would be no Ziva, no Gibbs, and most likely no McGee, since he had already moved on to another job (he had explained it to Tony once, but it was in McGeek speak, so Tony he still wasn't entirely sure what this job entailed). It would be a great opportunity, but was it for him?_

_However, when Fornell called with a counter offer for an opening in their intel department later that week, Tony had no qualms about accepting. He started on a desk job, but with his experience he quickly moved up to collecting some of the more sensitive information that the FBI required from top informants. And so, when Fornell approached him with this assignment, he hadn't exactly been surprised, but he had been intrigued._

"I have something for you."_ Fornell stated bluntly when Tony arrived in his office._

"We've established another new contact in Europe. We have several now, but the newest is based in Paris. We've had sporadic contact at best over the past few years, but her intel's always good. She's recently been in contact more often and she's requested a face to face meeting. We have had more and more of these requests as informants become wary of technology, and we're going to need someone based in Europe indefinitely."

"And you chose me." _Tony cut him off. At Fornell's glare, he was quiet again._

"Yes. You have no ties here, and our informant in Paris requested a newer agenet, one that's been with us for less than three years. You're our most competent new agent who wouldn't have to pick up and move and entire family. It makes sense."

_Tony looked at him expectantly, so he continued._

"The contact you'll be meeting with in Paris has at least six confirmed aliases, but the civilian name she appears to be living under in Paris is Sophie Reine. That's everything we have on her," _He continues, handing a file across the desk. _"We want you to get as much information on Miss Reine as possible, and stay in contact with her to collect any intel she might be able to provide. Her identity didn't exist before three years ago, but we've had no success determining who she was before. She's never been hostile, as far as we can tell, and has only supplied information for the United States and its allies. Your hotel reservation is made for an indefinite stay, and your flight is booked. She'll contact within 24 hours of arrival."

...

As Tony grabbed his carry-on and de-planed with the other passengers, he couldn't help but reflect on the thin folder that contained everything anyone knew on one Sophie Reine. Not much, no picture, no fingerprints, no physical description whatsoever, and no history. Just a list of aliases and a place of employment (a small restaurant/club that she owned, presumably bought with the first cash sum she'd received at the beginning of her career three years ago). The aliases were obviously carefully selected and fabricated for symbolism as well as functionality; each name meant some variation of "knowledge" or "wisdom". He had to hand it to her, she was certainly something else.

...

Oblivious to a certain someone's fixation on her, miles away, Sophie Reine sat in the small office of her restaurant, papers scattered across her desk, lost in thought. It would be three years tomorrow since she had slid effortlessly into this role, but that's all it was to her, a role. She'd hoped it would feel like _her _by now. Since three years ago, she had managed to push and shove her way to the corner of the information market in the City of Lights and Love. That was how she really supported herself, the restaurant was really more somewhere to occupy her time and meet with suppliers.

This lifestyle suited her. She answered to no-one and worried about only her own well-being. She of course still caught herself reflecting on her old life, the one she'd left behind, but she was getting much better at shutting these thoughts down. She was Sophie Reine now, and nothing would change that. Struggling up from the depths of her thoughts, she glanced over at the clock. Their agent would be at his hotel by now, surely. She grabbed the note she had written out earlier, stuffed it into a small envelope, and addressed it to the name and room number she'd been given. _Peculiar name,_ she thought_, it dings a bell from a lifetime ago._

_Monsier Antonio DiNovo_

_Chambre 314_

_Monsier DiNovo,_

_Meet me at Le Reve at 7 p.m. tomorrow night. _

_Give your name at the door, you will be expected. _

_I look forward to speaking with you._

_Sincerely,_

_S.R._


	3. Chapter 2

**AN: Two chapters today! So I don't feel so bad about how short this one is. JUst in case anyone doesn't know about it, there is a petition to get Cote de Pablo back on NCIS. They may not always wowrk, but it definitely can't make it any worse, right? It'll take about 30 seconds, sign it here! en-AU/petitions/cbs-television-studios-bring-cote- de-pablo-back-to-ncis Ok, that will be all!**

Chapter 2: Summoned

...

_"Remember the good times that we had?_

_I let them slip away from us when things got bad._

_…_

_I will remember you,_

_Will you remember me?_

_Don't let your life pass you by,_

_Weep not for the memories._

_…_

_I'm so afraid to love you, but more afraid to lose,_

_Clinging to a past that doesn't let me choose._

_Once there was darkness, deep and endless night,_

_You gave me everything you had, you gave me light." _

_~Sarah McLachlan "I Will Remember You"_

_... _

Tony flopped down on the bed of his hotel room and glanced around. It certainly wasn't the Ritz, but what else could he expect? I mean, the FBI has better things to spend their money on, and it was nice enough.

He'd ordered room service for dinner immediately after arriving, and he leapt up upon hearing the knock at the door. As he was handed the tray, he reached for his wallet to count out a tip. When he looked back up, an envelope was extended towards him. He took it, handed the waiter his tip, and closed the door.

_That was quick._

It was addressed to_ Monsier Antonio DiNovo, _his cover name here in Paris. The address and note itself were written in flawless calligraphy, but something about the handwriting made him pause. As he read through the note, his confusion deepened. There was something undeniably familiar about the slope of the letters, the curl of the "g"s, and the little loop on the end of each line. He had to read it again when he realized that he'd been concentrating so much on the letters that he didn't actually know what the note said.

_Tomorrow night at seven, Le Reve_. There was a simple, hand drawn map included on the back, it looked to be within walking distance. He set the note down on his bedside table, grabbed his dinner, and put a DVD in the player. _Might as well settle in for tonight._

...

After delivering the summons to the front desk at the hotel, Sophie decided to walk back to her flat. Walking helped her clear her head, and it wasn't as if she couldn't handle herself on the streets at night. She strolled slowly along, surrendering for the second time that day to the tide of memories, pulling her under. It would be three years tomorrow since she got on that plane. She liked to think of it as a birthday of sorts, and it was the one day of the year that she allowed herself to be immersed completely in the memories of the eight years prior to her disappearance into her new life. Perhaps it could be considered cheating her own rules to start tonight, but she didn't stick to her rules as rigidly as some.

...

Ziva decided on disappearing soon after their resignation was finalized. She began preparing just a week after she cleaned out her desk. The cause couldn't really be pinned to any one event in the past year, but eventually, enough is enough. First the bombing, then Ducky's heart attack, her father's death, Bodner's betrayal and consequent death at her own hands, and last of all, the investigation that led to Gibbs' reassignment and their resignation was just the straw that broke the donkey's back.

So she decided that her best option was a new life, with a clean slate. She could continue to use her skills in the best way that she could, but outside the boundary of politics and governments. Obviously it paid well (she'd dealt with enough informants over the years to know that) and collecting information was nothing new to her.

With her decision made, she had quietly gone about creating a new persona, preparing to lay Ziva David to rest quietly, without fanfare or acknowledgement, as she had always intended.


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: Hi everyone! I'm glad you're liking it so far, thanks for all the reviews! I'm not going to beg for them like some writers, but I do really enjoy getting them! I apologize for any spelling errors, I really don't like typing so I tend to do it as quickly as possible and sometimes I miss things when I proofread...so anyway, this chapter is also kind of short, but I will post again today if I have time! Oh! and just in case my hints have been too subtle, Sophie ****_is _****our Ziva. I thought it'd be fun to pick a name similar to Sophie Rainier, hence, Sophie Reine. Also, Sophie means wisdom, which I thought was a decent name for a freelance informant, whatever you want to call her.**

Chapter 3: Seeing Things

...

_"On the other side of a street I knew,_

_Stood a girl that looked like you,_

_I guess that's déjà vu, but_

_I thought this can't be true 'cause,_

_You moved to West L.A., or_

_New York, or Santa Fe, or_

_Wherever to get away from me."_

_~Train "Drive-By"_

_... _

The next morning, Tony woke up still feeling a little jet-lagged. He decided to get up anyway, and spend the day enjoying the sights that he hadn't seen in six years. A frown flashed across his face when he remembered who he'd seen these sights with the last time he was here. The irony of the day didn't hit him until he reached from his phone to check the time, and saw the date. Three years ago today, he got a text:

_Movie night tonight my place? I want to talk about something. –Z_

Three years ago today, he received The Note. Three years ago today, she ripped herself out of his life, and vanished.

He sighed. Struggling to forget her had been an uphill battle, but he was finally getting better, until he'd been sent on this damn assignment. After three years, he no longer caught a whiff of her perfume and immediately searched the crowd for her; he didn't do a double take when he saw chocolate brown curls as he was walking down the street. But since landing yesterday, he found himself looking for her on every street corner. Today he was resigned to the fact that he was here in Paris, and there was no possible way he wouldn't think about her.

They had finally healed the rift between them in this city. He had shaken her from the horrors that still plagued her dreams after that awful summer, and she had spent the rest of the night wrapped in his arms. No, he determined, there was no way he could forget her today, so why not take today to remember?

...

Today always started the same way for her, at the café. The one that they met at just before picking up the witness to catch their flight out of Paris. The one where her took his favorite picture, the one she still had, hidden away, for days she needed to remind herself that there were once people who cared about her. As she settled in the one of the outdoor tables with a black coffee (for old times' sake, she usually drank tea now. Who knew that not working over 48 hours strait could lead to a more relaxing lifestyle?) and a chocolate croissant. She stared at the buzz of life around her, and realized that nothing had changed. In six years, her whole life had ended and began again, but in this single moment, at this little café, watching the city, she could just be sitting here, waiting for him, six years before.

...

There were plenty of places he could have started the day, but that little corner café, the one her thought of as theirs, seemed like the perfect place. As he approached it, something about a woman who was just getting up to leave her table caught his eye. Olive skin, accented by an ivory lace sundress, with wild brown curls pulled half up to tumble around her shoulders and down her back. He glanced down and shook his head, in an attempt to snap himself out of it. When he looked up again, she was gone. _Just seeing things, _he decided. _It's today and I'm here, so it must have been my imagination._ The waiter clearing off the table she'd been sitting at didn't really support his theory.

...

Ziva stood up from her table and left a tip for her waiter. A gust of wind kicked up just as she turned to walked away, so she glanced back to make sure her money had not been blown away. That was when she saw him. He was looking down, but the sandy blond hair was what had caught her eye. It was a little grayer than it should have been…_No! That cannot be him. It is just today; it has me in a head-zone. Wait, that is not right…a headspace, that is the term._

She pushed her way down the crowded sidewalk, eager to escape the ghosts of her past that always seemed to pursue her on this particular day. The thought keep whirling around in her head as she hurried away, _I was just seeing things. That's all._


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: Hi again! Sorry I didn't get a chance to post again yesterday, but at least Ihad time to get a slightly longer chapter pounded out. I apologize in advance for any incorrect French, however little there may be, I'm in high school level French, not exactly fluent. We've hit 20 reviews! Thanks everybody, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story.**

Chapter 4: The Meeting

...

_"But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet?_

_ Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day, _

_And head back toward the Milky Way? _

_But tell me, did you sail across the sun?_

_Did you make it to the Milky Way_

_to see the lights all faded? _

_And that heaven is overrated? _

_And tell me, did you fall for a shooting star,_

_One without a permanent scar?_

_And did you miss me,_

_While you were looking for yourself out there?_

_And did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day?_

_ And did you fall for a shooting star? _

_And were you lonely looking for yourself out there?"_

_~Train "Drops of Jupiter"_

...

That night, Tony stepped out of his hotel, dressed to the nines. After doing a little research, he'd discovered that Le Reve was less of a club and lore of a high-end restaurant with live music and a dance floor. Glad that he'd actually decided to bring a few of his nicest suits on the plane, rather than having them sent, he picked one and had it pressed and cleaned.

He decided to walk over, since the night was reasonably cool, and Paris at night was never something he'd take for granted. Watching the lights and the nightlife never got old, so he was almost sorry when he reached a small sign that read:

_Le Reve: Fine cuisine et la danse (Fine dining and dancing)._

on the front of a small building sandwiched between an art studio and little clothing boutique. A mammoth of a man stood at the door with a clipboard, which seemed a little odd, but he supposed that you'd probably want as much space as possible inside, so taking reservations outside would help with that. That, and he was pretty sure it was a way to keep the atmosphere inside quiet, intimate, and exclusive. As he approached the door, the man looked up and spoke.

"Nom?"

"Antonio DiNovo."

"Ah, Yes! Monsier DiNovo. Miss Reine told me to expect you. You will be seated at table six, she will be with you shortly. Please, enjoy the show."

_Show? Well at least there will be something to listen to while I'm waiting._

As he entered the restaurant and found his table, he glanced around appreciatively. It was a lovely place, one large room, with a bar off the one side, and what looked to be private seating on the other. There was a dark, hardwood dance floor and stage at the far end of the room, near the bar.

While he perused the wine list (all the while planning on ordering a martini, shaken not stirred. Some things never change), he heard music begin. A waiter approached and he set down the wine list before ordering a martini. He wasn't _technically_ on the job, just establishing contact.

As he pulled out his phone to check the time, he heard a woman begin to sing. He attempted to answer a few emails, but the song kept invading his head. It was something in French, so the words were unclear, but it sounded melancholy and lonely. The woman's voice fit it perfectly, it was sweet and alluring, and the timbre of it was almost familiar…

As the music faded out, he heard the chair across from him being pulled out, and felt the table jostle. _Finally, _he thought, raising his head. Until his eyes met with a familiar, deep, shining brown.

...

Ziva loved performing on the weeknights. It was usually quieter and more intimate, and her regulars always enjoyed it when she sang. Tonight being tonight, she sang one of her favorite songs. It was a song about lost love, and it was positively, beautifully, heart wrenching. The haunting melody fit perfectly within her range, and she knew it was always one of her best performances. She knew she had a good voice, some would even say lovely, but she would always remember Tali, and compare herself to her when she sang.

As she finished her performance, she strode strait toward table six, laughing and talking with patrons as she went. Graciously receiving a complement from a woman behind her, she pulled out her chair and sat without turning around. She whirled around to face the expected rookie FBI agent, met the deep green eyes, and froze.

...

Those eyes. He'd seen the emptiness in them, for just a moment when she'd first turned. Like they were when he first met her, and she'd smile, and there may have been a flash of irony or amusement, and then nothing. It didn't reach her eyes. But the moment their eyes met, hers had filled. They'd become the eyes that never shut up, that he'd come to know and love.

He saw recognition, shock, then joy, quickly followed by terror. Longing, hope, sadness, finally settling on anxiety, thinly veiled by a mask of emotionless professionalism.

God. Three years and she wasn't even going to say anything!? He couldn't ever remember being this furious in his life. Damn her! Not a single word, in** three years** and now nothing? He couldn't even think of what to say, which is why he was so surprised when he heard the words tumbling out, quietly, in almost a whisper, but with an unmistakable edge.

_"I missed you."_

_... _

She could feel her face freeze when their eyes met. Recognition dawned on him first, then she could see the anger seep in to replace it. That's why she was so stupefied at his words. She thought she had heard him wrong, because the words didn't match the deadly calm tone. She heard herself answer before she had entirely processed what she had heard.

_"I have missed you too."_


End file.
